


Mea Culpa

by foxriverinmate



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Blasphemy, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxriverinmate/pseuds/foxriverinmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Catholic priest enters the confessional to hear the confession of the only occupant of his church. What he hears is shockingly painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mea Culpa

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: This had been lurking in my documents for exactly one year then I read a delicious tale about a priest and a fugitive from the law by the brilliant Foophile called [For I Have Sinned](http://foophile.livejournal.com/85158.html#cutid1) and not only loved it but it also happened to jog my memory about the fic I had written and forgotten...or maybe, as is more likely, didn't have the nerve to post at the time! So thank you, dear, for being brave enough to start the ball rolling and for the encouragement you've given me to take the bull by the horns ~~and book my own little spot in hell~~ and post it!! Uh...the only way I could get it to work was to start with Michael's POV; then it becomes third person.  
>  A/N 2: **This is just fiction and not meant to offend anyone of the Catholic faith or any other religion, but please be warned and do not click on the link if you are likely to be offended in any way. I take no responsibility if you disregard my warning.**

 

Michael’s POV

 

I feel a deep sadness as I enter the church and see just one man sitting in a front pew, his head bowed in prayer. Is the world really becoming so secular that churches are emptying in their droves? It’s a sign of the times, I guess.

I enter the confessional, seat myself down on the wooden bench and await the arrival of the only penitent I’m likely to see this evening. And sure enough; within minutes I hear the man’s footsteps echoing off the flag stones of the church floor as he approaches the confessional. The squeak of the curtain rings as he pulls them across reminds me that the rail really could use a drop of oil or something so I file away that small piece of trivia in a folder in my head marked _church maintenance_ as I hear him settle himself on the other side of the partition.

“Good evening,” I greet him as I make the sign of the cross and wait for him to start. I can almost taste the nervousness pouring off the man.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three years, five months and twelve days since my last confession. These are my sins.

I fell into addiction years ago, stealing to pay for my hits and…using violence when I was so desperate that there was no other way to feed my craving. I’m clean now; have been for the past year, but there’s always that nagging need in me because every day I have improper thoughts about my…a person that I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about…and I can’t get…this person out of my head. I drove…this person away, a long way away, because of my lustful thoughts and…improper actions and it’s eating away at me all the time because I just need to see this person again and I feel if I don’t I’ll never be at peace…For these and all the sins of my life I’m sorry.”

I feel frozen to the spot because this man’s words provoke memories that I thought long buried. I hear him sob softly behind the partition that separates us and I know I should speak words of comfort but I just can’t find my voice. I run a hand over my unruly hair, thinking incongruously that I need to make an appointment at the barber’s, feeling there’s something about that voice and the content of the confession that jolts me to the core.

It’s not possible. I knew I was running away from my troubled past when I took this post at St Catherine’s in London because it was half a world away from…that part of my life. Half a world away in time as well as distance.

Clearing my throat I struggle to get the words out. “Who is this person you have been having improper thoughts about?”

“It’s a man, Father.” The voice is low; growly; familiar.

Somehow this revelation doesn’t surprise me. Am I a hypocrite for not thinking of this as a sin? Does having a Doctorate in Theology qualify me to lecture the masses that homosexuality is a sin when I myself transgressed in my teens? Not simply transgressed; took a serious taboo and rode roughshod over it because I could not control the needs of the flesh. And at that moment I’m forced to admit to myself that, just as this man, this man with the familiar voice, found solace in chemicals, I found sanctuary in the Catholic Church. 

“Well, that’s not in the Catholic teachings, my son, but there’s a lot of it about these days.” _How banal or clichéd can one man be? This even makes me cringe inwardly_

But there’s a bigger shock to come.

“It…it’s my brother, Father.”

My heart almost stops and I actually struggle to breathe. No!

No, it couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.

It’s a struggle to keep my voice normal and I hope I succeed. “Can you tell me what these thoughts are?”

The man on the other side of the partition coughs. “It’s…I mean, I don’t want to…offend you, Father…”

“Don’t worry, my son, I’ve heard…embarrassing stuff before.” This is an understatement of the highest order.

“I…I’m in love with my brother, Father,” he blurts out. “Just as he’s in love with me. There’s never been anyone else in my life, at least not someone who meant…who I wanted, emotionally and physically, as much as I wanted my brother.”

I close my eyes, praying that this is not…no, it can’t be…I can’t reply; I just can’t.

“I er…I love my brother…in a very un-brotherly way and I so want to fu…make love to him, have him scream my name in ecstasy…

A sob escapes me. I fear there’s more to come.

“Father?”

“Does your brother return your feelings?” I manage to mumble with a lot of effort.

“He wants to, Father, but he’s too afraid and he left me because of it. Ever since he went away my life has been meaningless. I’ve never found peace or closure and all I want to do is possess him and if I can’t I...I don’t think I can keep living like this; it’s too hard.”

I sob brokenly. Now I’m sure. “Lincoln?”

“Michael.”

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the thoughts that made me want to run from the church and never come back and…standing shakily I push open the curtain on my side of the confessional and shove at the one on the other side…

…staring at the man I haven’t seen in eight years. 

“You knew! You knew it would be me taking confession!” I stare at my brother, daring him to deny it.

Lincoln bowed his head guiltily. He nodded before looking up with infinite sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

I’m angry; really angry. “That’s _Father_ Michael!”

“Forgive me, Father?”

The anger leaves me in that instant. I feel my face crumple as tears spill from my eyes. God forgive me, I throw myself against my brother, my arms snaking around his neck and holding on tight like a lost child who had just found his mother. “Yes,” I whisper, finally feeling again the comfort this closeness to my brother gave me on so many nights when the world didn’t make sense to me.

I weep brokenly for a long time, feeling a comfort I had missed so much for so many years. I’m that frightened little boy all over again, the one who had run to his brother when the other kids had hit him or called him names and even though he had not let them see him cry he’d still seek out the comfort and safety of his brother’s arms at the earliest opportunity. 

I can’t remember at what point it became…different. But one night after Lincoln had come home from work I had found solace in those strong and loving arms and something inside of me had…woken up and before I could stop himself I was _kissing_ my brother! On the lips and demanding he kiss me back.

When Lincoln’s tongue pushed past my lips and a hand snaked down between us, unfastening my pants and pushing inside, I had gasped and moaned with need, spurring my brother on.

It had been fumbling and messy, but we had jerked each other off until we both spurted come into each other’s hands, gasping and crying each other’s names.

It had been the most intense experience of my life and from that moment on I’d jonesed for my brother like an addict craves his next fix.

Lincoln had been ridden with guilt but whenever the act of comforting his little brother turned to something less…noble, he was a slave to his feelings for me and I couldn’t deny him. Neither could I deny myself.

 

~*~*~

 

Months later he had finally succumbed to the overwhelming urge to penetrate his brother and Michael had been a willing participant, crying in pain at Lincoln’s inept attempts to prepare him properly with the lube he’d bought from the drug store that day. But when he finally entered Michael they both knew that the bond they shared was like no other love. 

Only when Lincoln’s life began to turn sour, when his guilt for loving his brother the way he did niggled away at him so badly that he turned to drink or drugs to try to blot out that guilt, did Michael realise that his future was not with his brother and instead of going down the same road as Lincoln he turned to the church.

Sincere and devout in his beliefs, Michael still felt an awful gnawing emptiness inside; a void that only his brother could fill. But he kept a tight lid on his feelings and when the chance came to go to London and serve as St Catherine’s parish priest he took it, thinking that putting distance between them would help them both forget.

He’d been utterly wrong. Though time and distance had kept them apart physically, Michael realised now that they had both been emotionally crippled by their separation.

Even as he thought these thoughts Lincoln was pulling him into his arms, dragging him into the confessional and pulling the curtain across. Michael made to protest but as soon as he felt his brother’s lips on his he was lost. 

There, in the confessional, he was going to defy God and his own calling and allow his brother to fuck him.

Moaning into his brother’s mouth as his cassock was roughly torn open, some of the buttons flying off and clattering lightly on the wooden floor of the confessional, he drew a shuddering breath as a calloused hand yanked open his pants and pushed inside wrapping around his drooling cock, 

Michael was powerless to resist as his brother’s hand left his needy sex and pushed his pants and briefs down around his knees, turning him around and fumbling at his own clothing.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Lincoln gasped.

“Fuck me, Linc. Just fuck me.” Michael was past caring that he was begging his brother to fuck him here, in the Church, in the sight of God. 

Lincoln spat in his hand several times trying to lube himself so he wouldn’t hurt his brother too badly when he entered him. Bending Michael over slightly he lined himself up with his brother’s entrance and thrust inside, feeling his brother’s body tense at the intrusion and sob-whimper in pain. 

“Sorry!”

He felt the tight heat of his brother sheath him and pushed a little harder until he was deep inside Michael. 

“Fuck me!” Michael was almost sobbing with need as he encouraged his big brother to move inside him.

Heeding Michael’s desperate plea Lincoln fucked his brother. It wasn’t gentle or loving or pretty but, after so many years of missing each other, it was what they both needed. 

Leaning forward, forcing Michael to bend too, Lincoln took hold of his brother’s weeping shaft and fisted him hard and fast, his strokes exactly in syncopation with his thrusting cock.

“Linclinclinclinclinc…” Michael chanted as he felt the thick cock inside him brush against his prostate every time Lincoln thrust into him.

His brother chanting his name made Lincoln come as hard as he’d ever come, filling Michael with his seed at almost the same instant as he felt his brother’s come spill over his hand.

Both men remained motionless for long moments after each had spent, dragging breath into lungs heaving for air after such an intense coupling.

When he could finally think, Lincoln pulled out of his brother; the weight of what he had just done almost crushing him. What madness had made him seek out this priest, his own brother, and take him here, in the confessional? What kind of a man was he that he could fuck a priest in a church? Would God send a thunderbolt to punish him? Strike him down for daring to despoil a priest in His sight?

“I’m so sorry, Michael! I’m so sorry! So sorry!”

Lincoln shoved his softening cock into his pants and zipped himself up before stumbling out of the confessional, up the aisle and out of the church, leaving a dazed and frowning Michael in his wake.

Almost tripping out of the confessional, Michael looked down at the pants around his knees and pulled them up, straightening himself and looking in dismay when he saw most of the thirty three buttons from his cassock were either missing or hanging by a thread. 

Leaning against the side of the wooden confessional the enormity of what he’d done suddenly hit him. He’d actually allowed his own brother to fuck him, a priest, in this place.

Tears of shame and humiliation filled his eyes as he stumbled towards the sanctuary. He fell head first up the steps and landed heavily face down before the altar, ignoring the pain and spreading his arms wide in a cruciform. Tears ran freely down his face as he looked to the left and up at the statue of The Blessed Virgin, seeing in his fevered imagination an expression of disgust and anger on the alabaster features.

“Forgive me forgive me forgive me…”

 

**

 

His life was over. There was nothing left in this world that would ever make him want to stay in it.

His shaking hands found it hard to open the child-proof pill bottle so he took another drink and tried again, spilling the contents on the floor with a muttered curse. 

Kneeling he picked every one of them up and dropped them on the scarred coffee table next to the bottle of bourbon. He’d already consumed around a third of the contents but he poured himself another glass and put several of the pills in his mouth before swallowing them down with the liquor.

As he did his eyes strayed to the single sheet of paper covered with his brother’s neat handwriting and he laughed humourlessly. 

That letter was his own death sentence, passed by a man who he had pushed to suicide to satisfy his own sick carnal lust. A man he loved beyond all reason. He’d loved him from the moment he had first set eyes on him when his Mother had laid him in his arms at the hospital.

Back then it had been pure and noble love. The kind of love most older siblings have for further issue of the same womb. Protective, caring and loving.

He didn’t know quite when it changed but his baby brother had grown into a beautiful teenager and from that moment on both brothers were damned. 

And it was entirely his fault.

Michael had been so destroyed by Lincoln going to his church and annihilating the peace that Michael had found in God that he had committed a cardinal sin.  


When the letter informing him that that Father Michael Scofield had taken his own life, along with another letter addressed to him, Lincoln had known with utter conviction that he had killed his brother just as if his own hands had fastened the noose around Michael’s neck and kicked the chair away.


End file.
